The Serpent's Curse by Lisa Maxwell (read an ebook week .TXT) 📕

the sea as the ferry carried Harte onward, but as they drew closer to the opposite shore, San Francisco finally came into view. It was something to take it all in, the hills that flared up around the bustling docks, barely visible through the misty fog. Beyond the jut of land where the city sat, the bay emptied out into an endless sea, one that led to a world far wider and stranger than even Harte could imagine. Somehow, this view of San Francisco almost felt like enough to make up for the life he would never have.

Then the wind shifted, and suddenly Harte smelled himself instead of the sea—the days-old sweat and sourness rising up from his body and the other passengers’ cigar smoke that had permeated his clothes on the train. His skin felt sticky, and his hair was a heavy, unwashed cap against his scalp. For a moment he had the ridiculous thought that he would give nearly anything to be back in New York, in his own apartment, sinking into the steaming water of the pristine porcelain tub he’d worked so long and so hard to call his own. But that life was gone now, and the apartment right along with it. There was no going back, not when he carried within his skin a power that could destroy the world itself.

As the ferry shuddered to a stop, Harte pulled his jacket closed to ward off the chill he felt and began to follow the other passengers once again. He told himself that it definitely wasn’t stalling to clean up before he continued on. It wouldn’t do to show up looking like a tramp when he went to retrieve the Dragon’s Eye, the fanciful golden headpiece with an amber stone that seemed to glow from within. It would be hard enough to explain who he was and why he was there—how he was there—to a woman he’d never met. She probably hadn’t even known Harte existed until the Dragon’s Eye had arrived on her doorstep two years before.

It was early in the evening and the sun was already starting to set by the time Harte finally left the cheap boardinghouse and began to make his way up Market Street and into the heart of the city. The area near the docks was filled with squat rows of wooden buildings that housed saloons and worn-out hotels, along with cluttered shops that catered to travelers and sailors. But as Harte traveled away from the water, the city changed. The tumbled wooden structures near the water became well-made buildings of stone and brick that housed banks and offices. Instead of the workmen that had crowded the docks, filling the air with their raucous banter and all-too-human smells, the sidewalks in the business district were filled with men in suits who walked silently on, wearing serious, harried expressions.

Once, Harte might have relished every sight. Once, he might even have wished to be one of those men. Now, though, his only thought was for what came next—finding the Dragon’s Eye. Meeting Esta. Defeating Seshat.

As though I would allow you to… Or didn’t you learn your lesson, back on the train?

Harte shook off Seshat’s voice and kept his pace steady and determined, but days with barely any sleep had taken their toll, and his steps felt as heavy as the artifacts weighing down his pockets. It didn’t help that he knew that each step drew him closer to facing the past he’d been running from for so long.

When Harte turned onto California Street, he paused, confused by the grinding, growling whir he heard, until he realized it came from the cables that ran beneath the paved road. They sounded like some slumbering dragon waiting to rouse itself. Manhattan didn’t have anything like the odd, open trollies that traversed the steep hills of this city. The thought of using one was briefly tempting, but Harte knew he needed to save his last few coins for the trip back to the bridge. Instead, he continued his hike, trying to prepare himself for what might come.

With his affinity, retrieving the headpiece shouldn’t be difficult. A simple touch, skin to skin, and he could have it easily—and the person he was visiting would never even remember losing it. Nor would they remember him. Now, though, Harte wasn’t sure that would be the wisest move. After he’d left Esta, he’d thought to use his affinity to board the next train, but when he’d tried, Seshat had lurched within him, making his magic feel like something apart from him, uncontrollable and dangerous. Harte had barely pulled back in time to stop her from doing whatever she’d planned, and after, he hadn’t risked using his affinity again. Instead, he’d made the rest of the trip with nothing but his own cunning and what little money he had left.

It was clear that Seshat didn’t like the other two artifacts he carried, and he imagined that the ancient goddess would do everything she could to prevent him from retrieving a third. Harte decided that it would be safer to depend on his wits and whatever was left of his charm. He would keep his affinity tucked away and use it only as a last resort.

Eventually you will need to rely on what you are, Seshat purred. And when you do, I will be waiting.

Harte shook off her voice. He didn’t want to consider that Seshat might be right, especially since he didn’t have much confidence in his charms. Maybe he would have had more if he’d known anything about the person who had the Dragon’s Eye other than her name—Maria Lowe—and the address on Dawson Place, where she lived. He’d memorized both years ago, when he was still a boy and his mother had still been living with the man who had fathered him. That was before Molly O’Doherty had tossed Harte out into the streets, even though he was still a child. It was before Harte had taken up with